Exceptional Madness
by electricsymphony
Summary: He was insouciant at best; belligerent at worst. He came from a family of high esteem, but he was hardly respectable company. Yet, despite these facts, or, perhaps, because of them, Stefan can't help but yield to the allure of this one man's irreverent charm. Loosely based on the 1924 true story murder case of Leopold & Loeb and the 1948 film 'Rope'. 1920s/30s AU/AH. Kolfan, D/K.


**Notes: **'_Another _story with so many still unfinished?' I can hear you guys chorusing this sentiment like a choir, and trust me, I hate myself too. Seriously; where are the tar and feathers, 'cause let's douse me in them. But in my early 8 am Ethics class we talked about the Leopold &amp; Loeb murder case and watched the film 'Rope' and well... it was utterly fascinating. Kept my interest completely even though I was up all night the evening before writing a term paper. I didn't fall asleep once. I didn't even close my eyes. Basically, it was a really, _really _riveting story with amazingly fascinating ethical implications. So... I'm sorry, I really couldn't _not _spend the last twelve hours writing this.

This story pulls inspiration from that previously mentioned 1924 Leopold &amp; Loeb murder trial, as well as the film 'Rope', and as I'm writing this message at 1 am, it strikes me that the relationship between Kol &amp; Stefan in this story reminds me somewhat of Albus Dumbledore &amp; Gellert Grindelwald in HP as well, but that's more a connection than an inspiration. You don't have to have any prior knowledge of the 1924 trial or of the 1948 film to enjoy the story, but I absolutely maintain that it will enrich your experience if you do. Seriously though, watch the film. It's Alfred Hitchcock and it's freakin amazing.

The other pairings in this story besides Kol/Stefan include Datherine and a sprinkling of Kol/Kat when it enhances the story. Others may be added as I continue. I'm not entirely sure of everyone TVD-related who is going to be involved in this story and who isn't yet. This fictionally takes place in Connecticut, and although Silverstone Academy is fabricated, every other reference to CT related-things (neighborhoods, towns, universities) are true both through my personal experience of living here as well as through thorough online research.

Lastly, heed the M, people. This story is about murder, sex, violence &amp; contains lots of crude language. It's not for kids.

**Very Important Note: **This story is going to be all kinds of messed up, and I want to say firsthand and before we begin that I do not ascribe to the philosophies nor do I advocate the behavior of these fictional people, nor of their real life counterparts. This is very fucked up logic by very fucked up people, and the ethical philosophies taken to heart in this story and in the real world trial case are not meant to be taken that literally, and I want that to be clear to everyone before we begin. I am not advocating murder, for any reason, no matter its fancy ethical justification. This is merely a work of fiction inspired by a couple of really deranged and despicable teenagers in 1924.

After that _extremely _cheery note making you more sure than ever that you want to read this deranged piece, please enjoy the story anyway! :)

**Disclaimer: **The Vampire Diaries, its characters, plot lines and premise belong to LJ Smith, Kevin Williamson, Julie Plec, The CW, Warner Brothers and their affiliates. Various aspects of this story are inspired by the real life trial proceedings and murder charges of Nathan Leopold and Richard Loeb, and I do not claim any rights to their story. This story is also partly inspired by the 1948 film 'Rope', and belongs to Alfred Hitchcock, Warner Brothers Studios and their affiliates. I do not own _anything _detailed in this story, and I make no monetary profit by these writings. All rights reserved to respective parties.

* * *

Early September, 1921

* * *

The orange hue of the setting sun gave the ink scribbles in Stefan's diary a somewhat ethereal glow about them. He was in one of the most beautiful landscapes in the state—possibly the country—and yet, his mood could not be more downtrodden. His family had recently received news that his younger sister had passed last week due to a fatal bout of diphtheria, and they were in mourning. That, however, would not dissuade the formidable Giuseppe Salvatore from securing his youngest son's position within the ivory halls and iron gates of the most prestigious and pretentious preparatory school in all of New England, and likely, the country.

Silverstone Academy in Darien, Connecticut housed as many notable scholars as it did pompous egos. Stefan knew it was a privilege to be educated among these ranks, and the thirteen-year-old boy tried to be excited by the prospect of this new endeavor, but since Annabelle had fallen ill, he was rarely excited by anything. He and his young sister had held a bond that was stronger than the thickest rope; he couldn't imagine his life without her, and his family did not seem to share the sentiment.

Well, perhaps that was slightly hasty. He suspected that his older brother Damon-a nineteen year old Eli of Yale University studying pre-law in between bedding attractive New Haven women-was equally disheartened at the news, but he learned long ago that Damon only showed the world what he thought the world needed to know, and nothing further.

Stefan wished he had that sort of control.

He had been listening to an old, stodgy professor drone on about extra curricular activities when his eyes began to wander. Damon, who had accompanied him to Darien for the excursion, had long ago bid his farewell with a promise to return next week with mother's homemade baked goods, and Stefan was left entirely alone on a big, intimidating campus. He was astonished he was still breathing evenly with the inner turmoil brewing in his stomach.

"Our academic expectations are rigorous and challenging, boys. You will not be given leeway to slack off, and you ought to banish the idea entirely from your minds. You are here to earn the finest education money can buy, not to play the fool to amuse your comrades. That will result in…"

Stefan tripped over a stray stump protruding off a nearby tree and almost fell backwards in surprise; but no, that wasn't a branch—a branch couldn't grab his ankle and clench like that, no, it was a hand! He had to cover his mouth to keep from yelping out in surprise, but luckily, none of the boys were paying him any attention. He remained firmly in place—not that he had much of a choice—until the group had rounded a corner and disappeared out of view.

"Neat trick, mhm? Did I give you a good fright?"

Stefan glanced up, not sure what he was expecting to find, but a blonde boy around his age had jumped up from the bushes and was sporting a mischievous, devilish smirk, his head cocked towards Stefan in enthusiasm and interest.

When Stefan didn't respond, still shocked silent, the boy persisted, stronger this time, "Well… did I?"

"Er… yes? I mean…" he cleared his throat, trying to keep his eyes remained firmly within the boy's line of sight and not south toward other places, "Of course. You very much gave me a fright. I…" he knew he shouldn't ask, he knew he should walk away, but he couldn't escape the allure of that sharp, savage grin.

Stefan took a deep breath, peeked down at the boy's erect penis visible underneath his button-down shirt and continued, "What on earth happened to your pants?"

"That's your first question?" The boy asked incredulously.

Stefan frowned, "Well, what is most people's first question when you accost them out of nowhere without a pair of pants?"

The blonde boy smirked, a chuckle escaping his lips; "Well, formality dictates that we introduce ourselves first."

This was absurd, and he had half a mind to walk away and leave the strange boy to his own devices—whatever those may be—but he heard his voice ring out, strong and confident, without his approval. "You don't strike me as one to follow the dictations of formality."

"Oh?" The boy raised an eyebrow; "And why is that?"

"You're not wearing pants!" Stefan reiterated loudly, exasperated.

"How perceptive you are, Stefan Salvatore," the boy laughed.

Stefan choked on thin air, outraged. "How do you know my name?"

He shrugged, "I was spying on you and your brother earlier. You're interesting when you're flustered; I like interesting things, and you interest me. It all makes life so much more…" he licked his lips, "Invigorating."

"You're insane," Stefan spat and began to walk away.

"_Mad," _the boy clarified, "They say I'm a _madman_… a mental patient, a Satanist… oh, the things they say about me, my friend, you should hear them…"

Stefan stalled, powerless against his curiosity. "What's your name?"

The boy hesitated, clearly wondering whether he was ready to dissolve the mystery… "Kol Mikaelson," he said finally, reaching out his hand for Stefan to shake.

Stefan laughed, genuinely amused; "Shaking hands is a _formality_, Kol Mikaelson."

"It happens to be one I like, _Stefan Salvatore,"_ Kol fired back.

"So you pick and choose?"

Kol's lips quirked. Stefan likely had no idea how true this statement was in all its implications and in every possible context, but if Kol had his way, the young Salvatore would soon come to understand. "In most respects."

Suddenly, abruptly, and before Stefan could react, Kol grabbed Stefan's sweaty palm and began to run freely through the vast, expansive fields. They were nearing a darkened, wooden path when Stefan dug his heels in and paused, his eyes darting nervously and his notebook pressed desperately to his chest.

"What's the problem?" Kol asked, neither insensitively nor empathetically, but straddling some line in the middle.

Stefan hesitated—"Professor Atkins firmly forbids us to wander in the woods without supervision."

Kol did not seem offended, but intrigued. His voice was low and inquisitive when he asked, "Do you always follow the rules, Stefan Salvatore?"

"I _pick and choose_," Stefan joked, earning a hearty laugh from Kol.

"So choose chaos; choose disruption, anarchy, _life_… choose a life unfettered, Salvatore, and only then shall you discover the meaning of fate, destiny, divinity… our existence on this speck of dust we call a planet." Kol's smile was brilliant and bright, the fire of the setting sun lighting his face with an enticing spark. "Follow me and I'll show you what it means to be alive, Stefan." He scoffed, the first sign of displeasure on his pale, pink lips—"God knows no one in this retched place will ever show you the truth like I can."

Stefan's voice was too shaky to articulate his wonderment. He nodded, his movements still indicative of his uncertainty, his notebook still clutched tightly to his chest, but he nevertheless followed Kol into the bleak and unpredictable wilderness anyway.

But he couldn't quite shake the harsh, burning question swirling incessantly in his mind and prickling hot underneath his thumping, red veins—'Just what was he getting himself into?'

* * *

March, 1925

* * *

Her name was Katerina Petrova. She and her family were lowly immigrants from a little village in Bulgaria that had not the resources to maintain food and shelter for all its inhabitants, let alone provide them with a quality of life even remotely comparable to the affluent one Stefan's family enjoyed. She was the very sort that Giuseppe Salvatore would find wretched and deplorable; Stefan could hear his father now, his rough baritone wrought with displeasure—'A leech on our society, the lot of them; how we allow such filth past Ellis Island is a goddamn smear on an otherwise respectable country.'

Stefan had heard the speech enough times to recite it by heart.

Kol had come across her in one of his various illicit adventures farther east from Fairfield County than most of their ilk dared to go, sliding down small-town dirt paths in his new, sleek Ford Model T like Napoleon's Grande Armée marching into Russia, head held high and confidence infallible. The ash-haired blonde had found her in a run-down, dingy, musty old duplex in Middletown, a lone Slavic and her aging mother nestled between the Poles in Duck Hollow and the Italians down lower Court Street. He began routinely sneaking the immigrant girl past Silverstone's sealed, iron gates and into their dorm by the light of a pale moon where he bedded her with a most feral enthusiasm. Stefan reread Le Côté de Guermantes, his favorite volume of Proust's 'Remembrance of Things Past' and, for the most part, kept his eyes glued to the pages, but Katerina's moans of pleasure and Kol's lips sucking every inch of her exposed skin proved a heady distraction, and Stefan's eyes did stray ever so slightly to a viewing of Katerina's taut stomach more than once.

He tried to eradicate the image from his mind of Kol's tongue sweeping beneath the girl's wet folds and up the length of her clitoris, and with it the wolfish grin the blonde sported when he caught Stefan's eye between Katerina's legs, but it proved impossible. The image would remain firmly planted in his retinas no matter how many times he rubbed his forehead to ease the tension thick and heavy between his brows.

The girl wasn't a whore, though. Surprisingly, she was rather intelligent, and even more bewildering, she spoke a nearly perfect English. There were traces of her native country on her lips when she spoke, however, because her pronunciation of certain words highlighted the melodic, pleasing lilt that occurred when she rolled her 'r's, soft and delicate like an invaluable treasure held steadfast on her tongue.

They would spend many a night with Kol lazily lighting cigarette after cigarette, ash strewn all about his bedsheets, Stefan hoisted upon his immaculately clean desk, talking animatedly with Katerina about every academic subject known to man from philosophical inquiry to microbiology to the validity of the fear-mongering propaganda about the freshly emerging anti-communist movement. Katerina folded her dirty skirts on the ground, sitting cross-legged on the floorboards like no respectable lady Stefan had ever known.

It utterly fascinated the both of them, or at least, Stefan assumed. Kol's nonchalance was an art form, but Stefan was nothing if not perceptive, and Kol's lips had twitched into a sliver of a smile on more than one occasion as Katerina's dulcet, melodic tones reverberated the walls with the sounds of youthful exuberance.

Damon had called on them sometime around fifteen past seven one dreary Saturday evening, the three of them in their predetermined stations, and Stefan's eyes drew wide with alarm immediately. Kol, as per usual, did not seem disturbed by the idea that Damon would discover a girl—an _unsuitable _girl, at that—in their dorm, and Stefan whacked him over the head with a rolled up copy of yesterday's New York Times, if only to wipe that infuriating—_enticing—_ smirk off his face. He wished it would smack some sense into the reckless boy as well, but at the same time, he recoiled at the idea.

Despite all rationality, he was drawn to Kol's insouciant behavior like a moth to a flame and he wouldn't change it if he could. They balanced each other perfectly; Stefan, the neurotic and disciplined; Kol, the free-spirited misfit.

They were two adjoined puzzle pieces that didn't fit together seamlessly; rather, they were squished together as if by a relentless, impatient young child, their sharp angles pressed haphazardly into each other, not quite a perfect fit, but snug as a tightly swaddled babe.

They tried to hide Katerina, but Stefan's frantic disposition and Kol's boisterous laughter did not equate to a clear, lucid plan of action. Within moments, Damon appeared at their door, eyes sparkling with mirth and mischief, smiling at Katerina with an eerie, predatory grin.

"And what do we have here?" He jeered, clapping Stefan on the shoulder and stepping into the room with a cheery skip in his step.

"Are you blind, Salvatore?" Kol taunted, his lips curved in amusement; "It's not a terribly rare species; a girl, a female, a member of the fairer sex…" he tilted his chin in a smug expression; "Don't they have those in the city?"

"I'm aware of what she _is_, Mikaelson," Damon drawled smoothly, circling around Katerina in assessment, his grin still sharp as a blade, "I'm merely curious as to _who _she is."

To her credit, Katerina remained firmly nonplussed by the abrupt evaluation, holding her head high and lips pursed together with a flourishing confidence starkly atypical of a girl in her station.

"Ah," Kol murmured in understanding, "Then you ought to have asked, '_Who _do we have here?' instead. Perhaps _her _grasp of the English language is not the one that should be called into question, Damon."

Damon glared, his lips a thin, terse line. His lips then drew into a mocking sneer as he jeered, "My young brother finds your impetuous nature charming, little Mikaelson. Need I remind you that he is the _only_ Salvatore that does?"

Kol's only response was a puff of white smoke emitting from his latest cigarette.

"What's your name, girl?" Damon asked, stopping in front of her, his inspection of her physicality satisfied.

"Katerina Petrova," she answered smoothly. This time, she did not roll the 'r' in her name, and it came out quite strong, quite English. She did not demure to calling him sir as most women would do, regardless of their station. Her lips quirked in satisfaction as Damon's eyes darkened, waiting for a formality that never came.

"Are you a whore?" He asked, his inflection serious but his smile sly.

Her answering smile was just as mischievous. "Only when the mood strikes."

He leaned closer, "And where are you from, _Katerina?"_

"Middletown," she answered, her tone even and steady.

He smirked, pushing farther into her personal space, brushing a lock of hair behind her ear without her permission and holding the nape of her neck close to him, gentle but assertive. Their hot breaths mingled in the small space between their lips as he whispered, "You're far more than a stone's throw away from home, darling." His meaning was clear to everyone in the room. He didn't mean she was far removed _physically; _he was calling attention to her unusual presence; she was out of her element here, out of place, above her station—she knew it quite well. But she was never one to demure and stay where she was told. She quite enjoyed jumping over barriers, both literal and figurative.

"Middletown, mhm?" He muttered to himself, intrigued. "Italian?"

"Bulgarian," she corrected proudly.

"Slavic, then. Interesting," he nodded.

She cocked her head to the side, a confident grin spread on her lips as she joked with an underlying twinge of contention, "Would you like to take a fingerprint sample to conclude your investigation, officer?"

Damon was clearly surprised by her sharp tongue. "I like you, Miss Petrova."

"You don't _know_ me," she dismissed.

"I'd like to, if the lady would not protest," he whispered against the soft shell of her ear, low and suggestive.

"Why have you called, Damon?" Stefan's sharp, irritated voice broke through the fog of their banter and Damon stepped back, leaving Katerina to regain her footing somewhat unsteadily. Kol was once again lying in his bed, staring up at the ceiling, not directly engaged but listening emphatically—_always _listening—with his cigarette hanging idly off his lips, neglected and forgotten.

"I have news about mother," Damon said, "I'm afraid it's of a sorrowful nature; her condition has not improved since you were last home."

Stefan bit his lip and closed his eyes for a moment, digesting the news before answering, "Come, then; we shall discuss it more in private."

Kol bolted upright immediately, and all three heads turned to stare at him incredulously. "You will do no such thing," he argued as he snuffed his cigarette out in the ashtray by his beside table, "I must be bringing Katerina back home now, anyway." He grabbed his keys and coat off the hat rack and handed Katerina hers before cracking a sly smile, "I'll be back in two hours, boys. We promise no impromptu stops on the way to Middletown, don't we darling?"

Katerina shook her head in amusement. "You cannot even drive in a straight line with _both _hands, Kol, _dear,_" she mocked with a wry smile, "You'd kill us both if I let one hand roam under my skirts."

With that, they shut the door on the brother's grim conversation and walked stealthy through the halls without so much as a mute breath, avoiding all suspicious eyes until they reached their usual set of fire escapes. When they reached the pavement behind the Admissions building, shrouded in shadows, Kol ran a hand through his mussed hair and lit another cigarette.

"I have taken a recent liking to Stefan, you know. Not in a sexual manner, granted, but he's an interesting companion. He has extensive knowledge on immeasurable subjects."

Kol only nodded, his mind elsewhere entirely.

"What do you make of him?"

"Pardon?" Kol asked, turning to face her.

Katerina spoke slower, mocking him. "What do you make of the young Mr. Salvatore?"

Kol's eyes sparkled with a glint of something Katerina could only categorize as fondness—an expression of emotion she never before now would've associated with Kol Mikaelson—and his tone took on a wistful quality when he took an inhale of nicotine and answered, "He's a genius; a motherfucking, cocksucking genius."

"Is he?" Katerina asked incredulously, a sly smirk on her lips. "A _cocksucking _genius, I mean?"

Kol's eyebrows arched. "Are you asking me if Stefan has sucked _my _cock?"

"I wasn't implying anything," Katerina dismissed easily, "But seeing as you brought it up…"

"No, he hasn't," Kol answered resolutely.

Katerina's smile grew impish. "Do you want him to?"

Kol paused, inhaled another breath of nicotine and blew the smoke out gingerly, its remnants just gracing Katerina's nose. "Get in the car."

* * *

**Notes: **I have to admit, very miniscule parts of that latter section bordered on Steferine. Excuse me, I have to go take a really long shower. :P

This story will get infinitely darker and more complex as we progress. Also, the way I'm planning this story is slightly erratic; I'm not planning on writing the scenes with any sense of chronological order, so I can only stress that you pay very close attention every time I start a section with a date. I want you guys to understand this story as well as I do. That's always my goal.

Thanks for reading, and please leave a review if you enjoyed, have comments, suggestions or constructive criticism. :)


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